


Sweet Words Are For the Living

by FalovesPa



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Death, F/M, Other, Thorin Oakenshield's death, mourning Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalovesPa/pseuds/FalovesPa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The widow of Erebor finds the long, difficult way out of the depths of despair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Words Are For the Living

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers! Don't read if you don't know or don't want to know.

There is a cold, narrow place between grief and the abyss of despair that seduces mourners to stay for far longer than they should.

It initially comes across as a safe place, where a beaten heart and tortured mind can deny the one thing that remains after a beloved’s passing: the future.

This quiet, remote paradise seems harmless, until the silence becomes a demon. 

When you completely shut out the world, soon the mind locks, the eyes deaden, the mouth dries, the skin shrivels. There is no need for food or drink. 

As the widow of Erebor, you’re stuck in this hell. 

After weeks of wandering around the halls like a lost lamb, crying fits that echoed throughout the kingdom until your eyes swelled and your throat was raw, unable to keep even the lightest meal down, you are drawn to that evil place.

No one can pull you back – not the healers, the handmaidens, guards, parents, siblings, friends, Thorin’s company, or your own children. Their pounds on your door go unanswered as you sit in your tufted black velvet chair, eyes fixed on the stone wall before you. 

Your middle son’s innocent voice calls for his mother, his “Amad,” but you ignore him, as you ignore all the others. 

Your frail body does what little it can for you, carrying you to sleep off and on throughout the day and night, your screams hovering over every image in your nightmares: war, and blood -- so much blood -- and the last time you saw Thorin alive. You dream of your children’s aching sobs at your husband’s honorable burial, and how you thought your body would literally break in two from missing him so much. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been in this fog – a few days? A week? You know your children need you, but you have nothing to give them. It will be only a matter of time before your spirit decides to leave you. It cannot live in such a hopeless place, in such a heartbroken vessel.

The afternoon that the bleakness begins to lift, there’s a different light, color and sound to your dreams.

Gone is the scarlet-covered battlefield; gone is the wailing for dead heroes. This dream has an overcast sky and warm, swirling breezes, the promise of an impending thunderstorm. You stand outside Erebor’s gates, outfitted in the flowing, off-white dress Thorin always loved to see you in. Your skin glows, your eyes shine, and your full rich hair kisses your shoulders. It’s a new day, a new dream.

“My Queen.”

Your body quakes upon hearing his voice behind you, and you turn slowly to face him. He is adorned in a royal blue tunic and black trousers, as handsome as the first day you met him. 

“My King.” The words come out in a small, desperate cry.

“What is happening to you?” 

You take a step toward him, wanting to touch him, but you stop when you see the grave look on his face. In fact, you’ve never seen him look so angry. You feel timid under his glare.

“I’m coming to be with you,” you whisper.

“You cannot, you will not, join me now,” he says firmly, his eyes like cold blue glass. 

His command places such a weight on your heart that it feels like it will fall straight through you onto the ground. 

This is not the conversation you thought the dream would bring. Here stood your first love, your only love, the person who valued your viewpoint, who laughed at your jokes, who consumed you with passion, who fathered your children, who stayed up into the wee hours talking with you and making plans.

“Don’t scold me, Thorin,” you beg. “Can't you see I’m broken? I need…" You search your heart. 

"Talk to me sweetly, the way you used to.”

“Sweet words are for the living; you're fading away. I’m not here to coddle you, my love - I’m here to wake you! You cannot leave our children orphans. You cannot destroy yourself. In time, you can mend. And you can love again.”

You shake your head violently. “Never.”

“You will.”

The breeze picks up suddenly, and the clouds race across the sky. Darkness looms, shadows begin to fall all around you. This is how time passes in a dream: too dramatically, too quickly. Not now, or ever, will you be ready to leave him. But like so many other things in life, you have no choice. 

You reach out and touch his hands. “Wait for me.”

Thorin links his fingers with yours. A promise glistens in his eyes. 

That’s the last thing you remember before waking up. You are curled up in your chair, your limbs sore and weak. You look around for Thorin in vain, thinking for the briefest of moments that he is alive and in this room, preparing for bed. 

But nothing has changed, except this: by order of the King, you are not going to fade away. 

You are going to mourn him as long as you need to, but you are going to live, and tend to your children, and find peace, maybe even love, though you can never imagine being in anyone else’s arms ever again. 

Then you recall his words in the dream: "You will."

Tears begin to stream down your face, and the sobs come from deep within. You weep for all the sad reasons, but you also cry tears for the future, because there’s hope in it. Thorin told you so.

A gentle knock on your door is followed by several voices calling, “Amad? Are you awake?” The door cracks, revealing several pairs of small hands pushing it open.

You wipe your face quickly, stretch out your legs, and muster a smile. 

“Come in, my darlings. Mother’s here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know my timeline for Thorin's demise is off. My headcanon is that he was married and fathered children for years before the Battle of the Five Armies, which of course wouldn't be accurate, but -- that's what's in my brain. Also, I wanted to write this as a Thorin/OC but to stay consistent with what I've already posted on AO3, I figured Thorin/you (reader) made more sense. It's written in OC form on my blog, supercoolkitty.tumblr.com


End file.
